God in Exile
by Ahmar
Summary: Fantasy AU. Atem is the king of a prosperous but troubled kingdom. His reign has been difficult, and revolutionaries springing up and a plot to overthrow him as king could throw the country into crisis.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes:** First of all, if you're reading this as a fan of anything else I've written, please do not panic. Nothing has been abandoned or put on hiatus. Secondly, I'd like to say that this story was started on a whim. It was a random idea that sort of started taking up far too much head space not to be written. I'm not certain I'll continue it too long, so don't wail and shriek if it suddenly gets ignored in favor of updating Sesen. This story, I think, is a little less silly than Sesen. I've tried to use a slightly stiffer style of writing to help it line up with the setting. Aside from shades on Monty Python, it shouldn't have **too** many gags. Or at least not as many as Sesen.

And I feel I should stress this: This is an **alternate universe story**. Characters may be in a different setting, or even play slightly different roles, but their personalities should be the same.

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**God in Exile**   
Prologue

"Kissa, my love, I must leave you, now," the young, dark-skinned man said to the dimminutive woman who so desperately clasped his strong hands. Their child, a small boy of no more than four years, looked on, wide eyes filled with anxiety. The man wore the bright white finery of a Holy Knight; his wife and son wore simple long tunics.

The woman pressed her lips together in a pale, thin line as a sob wracked her body. "Please say that you'll return," she pleaded. "Don't leave me to raise our boy alone."

"I'll not leave you alone, Kissa," the man said, tenderly kissing her hand. "Nor would I leave our son without a father."

The statuesque man quirked a brow as his son tugged at the hem of his jerkin, staring up at him with eyes brimming with tears. "Papa..." he managed to squeak out before his tiny voice died in his throat. He threw himself against his father, tears streaming down his rounded, dusty face.

"Don't fear, my child," the father said, scooping the boy up and holding him close. "Papa will come back. Papa will help Uncle save the kingdom, then Papa will come back to you. All right?"

The boy nodded silently, his tiny body shaking with quiet sobs. His father handed him back to his mother before taking the reigns of his waiting horse and waving them what may be his final farewell.

"Wait for me, my family that I love," he called. "I'll come back bearing weapons to protect us for generations to come!"

"Oh, shut up!" the king barked moodily, falling back against his cushioned chair in the balcony as the curtain was drawn across the stage, hiding the family of actors from the audience's view. Half the audience turned to face the balcony, most likely expecting to see some sort of argument transpiring. "Where was I when this play was approved?" He cast a questioning glance at the elaborately-clad man seated nearest to him.

"You were in bed ill, sire," the man, Mahaado, answered. "Now, if I may be so bold, please follow your own command before you disturb the entire room."

Atem pouted and crossed his arms against his chest, sinking deeper into the plushy chair. Mahaado may have been the closest to him of all the Holy Knights, having been unofficially assigned to caring for and tutoring him, he still excercised some decorum when cutting Atem down. It made it somewhat difficult for Atem to be angered by the jabs.

"That actor must be at least twenty five years my uncle's junior," Atem said in a hissed whisper, ignoring his knight's advice. "The old goat probably organized this whole farce."

The Knight nodded, causing the elaborate beading in his blond hair to jingle a bit. "He did, sire. The whole thing was written while you were ill, so he took the responsibility of directing its production."

"I was only ill for half a week," Atem deadpanned.

"I know, sire," Mahaado said, his voice carrying the same sentiment.

"It shows," Atem said. "Did anyone else notice that the woman he has playing my mother has stubble on her neck?"

The Knight smiled, obviously struggling to stifle a laugh. "If we noticed it all the way up here in the balcony, I doubt anyone missed it."

"A farce," Atem muttered. "An utter mockery of everything this kingdom stands for."

"You act as though you've been personally insulted, sire," Mahaado teased. "It was you who said that a play dedicated to events that took place a mere fifteen years ago was 'premature and ridiculous'. Do you remember?"

The young king glared at his Knight and gave a dismissive wave. "Go find a wine server and bring me a cup, Knight. This travesty of theater makes me thirsty for something more than water."

"Can't you wait for the party, sire?" Mahaado asked, getting up from his seat.

"That simply isn't an option."

* * *

The party bustled around Atem, who had wandered away from his Knights to mingle amongst the guests. Nobles and upper class citizens all, they were reserved and graceful even when at play. Dainty ladies in glistening gowns glanced coyly in his direction over their wine glasses while their well-dressed husbands discussed coin and politics, thoroughly distracted by the sound of their own voices. An especially beautiful lady, blonde with blue eyes and pale skin, flashed him a smile and handed her drink to a friend before approaching him. 

"Evening, sire," she said, voice foreign and strange like her stark white skin. She was obviously some lower class foreign girl brought over to be a bride to a nobleman too unsuccessful or simple to snare a native woman of equal birth. Her expensively tailored gown hung in strange ways on her bony frame. She was obviously what Atem had heard Mahaado refer to as a fasting girl.

"Good evening," he said with a courteous nod. He took a sip of his wine, the same glass he had been nursing on since the middle of the play. Atem wasn't fond of alcohol on most occasions, and didn't drink much when he did crave it. "Who has escorted you here, if I may ask?"

The girl giggled and curtsied. "I've come with my husband, Headmaster Anum from the mage's academy. I believe he has gone off with some colleagues. I'm sorry that I cannot introduce you."

Atem nodded. "I've met your husband before," he said. He didn't add that Anum was a snivelling little worm of a man whom Atem's Knights strongly suspected of syphoning money from the school's funds to finance his personal endeavors. Like a beautiful, exotic, young wife and a lavish wedding.

"Isn't he such a glorious man?" she said cheerfully. Atem had to bite back his tongue to interject with 'gloriously greedy'. "He's so generous and kind. But... not very exciting. And a plain man." She paused, apparently considering her next words. "Ah! My name is Delitia. It's a pleasure to meet you, sire."

Suddenly desperate for an escape from this ridiculous conversation, Atem scanned the ballroom for someone, anyone, that he knew. His Knights nowhere in sight, he found himself terribly grateful to see his uncle helping himself to a small meat pie, one of many on a server's tray, a few short paces away. He excused himself swiftly, explaining that he had to speak to his uncle. Thankfully, the girl did not follow.

His uncle snatched another pie from the tray upon noticing Atem's approach and handed it to him with an amiable grin. The old man had been in exceptional spirits the entire night, and it was almost unsettling. Akunadin was usually a brooding sort of fellow, often going off on his own while Atem and the others enjoyed celebrations, yet he was lively and friendly tonight.

"It's a grand party, isn't it, nephew?" he said.

Atem smiled and took a small bite of the pastry. He had only been truly drunk once before in his life, and it had been a less then joyous celebration from that point on. It would be nice to put some food in his stomach as a sort of preventive measure. "It's wonderful, uncle." He paused to take another bite of the pie and wipe a stray bit of gravy from his chin. '_Damnable messy things_,' he thought to himself. "Has anyone mentioned the performance yet?"

"Oh, not many," the elder said. "Though it's no consequence if it wasn't exactly popular. Your party is the main event, after all."

Another drop of gravy escaped uneaten and delayed Atem's reply. "Yes. I have to say that we waited long enough." He smiled almost sadly to himself and took another sip of his wine while his uncle went on. His father had been dead for almost two years. He had reigned as king for exactly one year. The 'official' coronation celebration had been brief and quite simple. Terranera had been thrown into a state of panic by war in the neighboring kingdom of Luropa. In hindsight, it had been little more than another one of the brief, self-contained civil wars that Luropians were so prone to waging and settling in the course of a few weeks, but the people had clamored for a true king. They demanded an absolute ruler, not a cabinet of nobles bickering over how to manage a country.

It had been a foolish decision on everyone's parts. The people had demanded a ruler, and after long debates between himself and the Knights, he had taken up the crown at the age of fourteen. The war ended in less than a month, and Terranera were left with a boy trying desperately to play at his father's game of politics instead of a proper king. Mahaado and the other knights had been supportive of him, maybe even **too** supportive in those stormy first weeks. All his schooling had failed to prepare him for the dire, and sometimes utterly trivial, decisions he had to make from day to day. A slew of appeals from prisoners in the capitol city's prison had arrived on the same day as the requests from his head general to change the army's rations to a different sort of meat. It was a disturbing contrast.

A strong hand clapped itself to his shoulder and shook him from hsi revelry. He whirled around to face another of his Knights, Kalim, who had gone to all the trouble of wearing a decent shirt for the party. Shaada stood just behind him. "It's time to give your address, sire," Kalim said. "The guests are waiting for you to speak."

Shaada cleared his throat and pointed. "Your shoe, sire."

Glancing down, Atem blinked. Then swore. His arm had gone slack as his mind wandered, and the overstuffed tart had spilled most of its contents onto his shoe. "Don't just gawk," he hissed, rather embarassed as Kalim snickered. "If you've something for me to clean up with, I'd appreciate it!" Shaada handed him a kerchief he had concealed somewhere in the many pockets of his tunic. Sometimes Atem swore it was more of a travel bag than a garment. Atem hurriedly mopped the chunky mess from his shoe and handed the ruined kerchief back to Shaada, nodding in gratitude.

The slighter Knight grimaced slightly and looked about for an opportune place to dispose of the meat-filled rag. Seeing none, he sighed and gingerly set it into a large pocket. "We had better hurry before your uncle steals the stage," he said with a teasing smile.

A thunderous sound rang out in the hall outside, causing any partygoers still sober enough to notice to jump into the air and turn to warily face the huge double doors. A lone palace guard ran in, clutching his arm to his side. He ran with purpose to Atem and his Knights.

"An intruder!" he exclaimed. "Summon the rest of the Knights and get everyone to safety!"


	2. Accusations

**Author's Notes: **Well, I decided to continue with this. It's much more fun to write than I had thought it would be, even if nobody reviewed it. Heheh. There may be some unusual mistakes, since my spellchecker decided to go on a rampage at random points. RoughDraft is a fickle mistress.

**Chapter 2: Accusations**

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The ballroom exploded into a frenzy as the guards directed panicked partygoers into other parts of the palace. Some of the more intoxicated guests hadn't realized the danger just yet, and posed a problem to the guards trying to maintain an orderly evacuation of the ballroom. Progress was slow.

Shaada and Kalim stepped in front of Atem. Anyone wanting to get at him would have to go through them to do so. Still stunned by the abrupt outbreak of chaos, Atem stood his ground behind his Knights, peering around them and tensely watching the open doors. Mahaado rushed in moments later, followed closely by Simon. Simon was an old man, even older than Atem's father had been, and had been more of a nurse to Atem than a Knight. He was still an able man in battle, however, so few made an issue of it.

"You should not be here," Simon intoned darkly, shifting his gaze momentarily from the door to Atem. Mahaado nodded slowly, silently echoing the sentiment.

The king scowled and took on the haughtiest stance he could muster. "I would rather stay," he said. "Whomever it is, it's obvious that he wants to see me, not cause havoc."

The old man whipped his head around and glowered at Atem, who started despite himself. Simon's wrath still meant more to him than a minor argument. After all, it is the child's nurse's duty to discipline as well as guard and nurture. Atem still associated Simon's anger with a stern caning at worst. "That was my point!" Simon snapped. "He wants you and... Oh, gods," he muttered in irritation. "Miss Delitia should leave as well."

Atem looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the girl he had encountered earlier had made her return at a most inopportune time. "Get out of here," he hissed, allowing decorum to leave him for a moment. She only looked back at him with those glassy blue eyes and twirled a lock of hair around her dainty index finger. It felt like what Atem imagined speaking to a rock would. He made a shooing motion and received the same glazed response. He returned his attention to the door and wondered where Ishizu, his uncle, and his cousin Seth were. Possibly trying to restore order outside the ballroom. Seth did always make the best peace, after all.

A bright flash in the hall outside, accompanied by frantic shouts, caught their attention, and the distinct scent of magic wafted into the room. "So he's a mage," Mahaado said softly, a slight smile playing across his face. Mahaado had never been a braggart or one to flaunt his skills about, but it could not be denied that the man relished the odd excuse to throw his magic around.

Another brilliant flash struck, closer now. The group grew tenser and the party guests that remained in the ballroom trembled, frozen in place by terror. A figure rounded a corner far up the hall and approached the ballroom doors. He wore a heavy cloak and seemed to be dragging a large travel bag behind him by a length of rope. Magic arced and sparked about him, and the vague outline of a hulking, monstrous shape could be seen looming over him.

"A mage with a Spirit Beast," Kalim observed. The words sent a cold shiver down Atem's spine. He knew all about the Spirit Beasts. They were embodiments of a person's soul, capable of feats ranging from simple tricks to those thought capable only by the gods themselves. As king, Atem had three such creatures by his birth right. Very few people, however, could manage to bring the Beasts out of their minds and into the physical world. After an entire year, Atem still barely had a strong enough grip on his abilities to summon even one of them for very long. Even with three Knights and their Millennium Items, as well as his own to defend them, it would be far from necessary force to fend off a powerful Spirit Beast. So far, their situation looked grim.

"Greetings, Knights," the strange man said coolly as he stepped through the doors. The Beast's shadow moved through the surrounding stone walls as if they weren't there at all. The man smiled sharply, the white of his teeth just barely visible in the shadows under his hooded cloak. He gave the rope a sharp yank, sending what he had been lugging along skidding on the floor toward the Knights. It was not a travel bag, but a large straw dummy, dressed in some farcical semblance of a nobleman's clothes. Its canvas-wrapped head was even topped with a crown, obviously fashioned from an old pot or frying pan. Atem cringed upon examining the painted face, with its neat beard and stern features. An effigy of his dead father, or so it seemed. He shoved his way past Kalim and Shaada, his patience with this insolent man already wearing thin. Simon made a half-hearted grab for him, but allowed him to go. Atem appreciated that. He placed his feet far apart in an attempt to steady himself in the event of an attack.

"What is your business in my palace?" he asked the hooded man heatedly. The man threw his head back with an unhinged cackle, his response confounding everyone in the room.

"Who're you?" he asked after his cackle faded into bemused chortling. "You can't be the king, can you? You're not more than a little boy!"

"I am the king, and you will treat me with the respect that I deserve," Atem said, willing the fires of rage growing inside of him to burn slow instead of consuming him. He was determined to remain calm. The Knights behind him stayed in place, ready for action the moment the man made a move for Atem.

"And what respect would that be, little highness?" the intruder asked. He pulled his hood back, revealing a face with feral eyes and a grinning mouth, framed by shaggy white hair. There were several astonished gasps at the savage appearance of the man. "You've put prisoners to death that deserve more respect than you."

A hush fell over the ballroom, the man's brash words shocking the Knights and guests into silence. He stood their, smug and proud in his defiance. Atem wanted badly to strike him, simply to wipe that cool smirk from his lips, but he could not. He would not. If he so much as approached the man, the Spirit Beast that accompanied him may bat him away with one swing of its massive arm before the Knights could react. It was a strange thing, the beast. A man's body from the waist up, and a snake in place of legs. Atem considered it a fair representation of its master, save for one detail. Huge, feathery wings fanned out behind it, skewing the demonic appearance of the thing. Its huge eyes stared down at Atem, watching him, holding him spellbound for a moment. He shook his head violently to clear it, returning his attention to the cloaked intruder.

"Insolence!" he barked. Delitia gasped and started, startled out of the daze she had fallen into. She hurried back to the crowd of guests and huddled close to her husband. "I told you to treat me with respect, and you will!" He took a step back and nodded to Mahaado. the knight nodded back. He was prepared to defend Atem if need be. "Explain yourself," Atem commanded. "Who are you, and why have you come here?"

"Calm yourself, little highness," the man said with an amused chuckle. His Beast settled, its wings folding as it relaxed at some silent command he had given. "I didn't come to fight you or lay siege to your palace. I only come with a message."

A voice piped up from the crowd at the back of the room. "What is the meaning of this?" Headmaster Anum demanded. "What sort of message requires you to injure several of the king's soldiers and terrify so many people?"

Another cackle erupted from the man's throat, filling the room with echoes of an almost melodious insanity. "One long overdue!" he proclaimed. He made a wide, sweeping gesture, grinning as wildly as ever. "Oath breakers, all of you! A disgusting, spoilt bunch of deceitful betrayers!"

Before Atem could voice his displeasure at the insolent accusations, Delitia shoved her (rather indignant) husband aside and stormed closer to the white-haired man. "You've got no right to talk to my Anum like that!" she snapped shrilly. Atem and the Knights could only boggle at her newfound courage. Or foolishness. It was becoming more and more obvious that, with this girl, the two most likely overlapped.

"Silence!" the intruder commanded. Some unseen force shoved Delitia back, sending her toppling backward in an undignified heap. A few of the braver guests rushed over to examine her for injuries while Anum stayed in the back. "Ridiculous strumpet. I don't think any of you understand, and she's the perfect example! Woman, ask your husband how long it's been since he's spent his day practicing his spells instead of counting the tuition fees from students! Make him prove to you that his gift hasn't abandoned him in his lethargy!"

Anum seethed, his thin, creased face turning a bright red. "Lies!" he screeched. "Slanderous lies! I haven't missed one day of study since I was a green apprentice!"

"Then show us," the strange man said with a sneer. "Show us what your years of practice have given you, besides a glamorous home and a lovely young bride."

"Such a frivolous display of my abilities would be a waste," the man retorted after some thought.

"A likely excuse!" the intruder said almost proudly. "And I suppose I'd receive similar 'noble' excuses if I asked the little king's general how he became so very, very wealthy on what shouldn't be much more than a soldier's salary, or how the prison is filled with more petty, lower class thieves than high class murders, or-"

The man was cut off abruptly as Atem rushed over and slapped him hard across the face. His Knights were left behind, taken aback by the king's foolhardy action. "Be silent, **now**!" he bellowed. "If you could show restraint in your actions and speak with respect to those you accuse, I would hear you out, but you have done nothing of the sort! If you have come with a message, stop this blustering drivel and get on with it!"

In one fluid motion, the translucent Spirit Beast scooped its master up in a huge hand and stood upright. The Knight braced for attack while Atem stood his ground. He wouldn't back down to some petty party crashing revolutionary who had brought nothing more than his own abilities. The beast towered over him, its pale body filling almost a fourth of the huge ballroom.

"Say the king who's scarcely ever been outside the walls of his own palace!" the intruder sneered from his vantage point. "Admit it! You're all growing fat and lazy off the pain and blood of the people you claim to serve, and you don't even know it yet! You're no king; you're just a sheltered, spoilt child. I came here looking for a king and found a boy barely old enough for breeches. I'm almost disappointed, but not quite surprised. Good evening to you all; you'll see me again!"

With that, the Beast turned around and glided out of the room. To the awe of all near enough to watch it leave, it and its master disappeared a moment later.

Atem sighed, his shoulders falling as he turned to address his Knights. "Have the uninjured guards comb the palace and make certain he is not hiding anywhere," he instructed. "Have the guests move out into the courtyard and continue the festivities."

"You're certain, sire?" Simon asked. He frowned, obviously concerned. "That man may still be in the palace."

"All the more reason for our guests to be outside," Atem said bluntly, stepping past the Knights. "Send a small group of guards out as well, and have Kalim and Shaada accompany them. I'm going to prepare for bed. Good night, everyone."

* * *

Atem yawned and stepped out of the steaming bathwater and began thoroughly drying himself off. The short bath had helped alleviate some of the stress from the unusual party crashing, but his mind still raced. Anum was obviously a crooked man, but he managed the academy so well that the court has more or less ignored his avarice, but the general? He had never expressed any unusually greedy traits. In fact, Atem had considered him a decent man, if a bit timid for his line of work. He slipped his robe on and shook the last of the large droplets of water from his hair before stepping out into the hall. The sounds from the party were wafting up from the courtyard, and he peered out one of the huge windows to watch. The Knights had made certain that the party was still as festive as possible, even in the improvised setting. Hanging lanterns had been hastily brought out and light, outdoor furniture set up while the small band played on. He smiled sleepily and turned away, more interested in his musings and his bed than in the party.

He wasn't really a spoilt brat, was he? He knew that he had been sheltered as a child, and not had the time to mature before taking the throne, but he had never thought of himself as a brat. "Loud-mouthed showoff," he muttered to himself.** "**He doesn't know half as much about managing a country as I do, so what right has he to talk?"

"No right at all, sire," a familiar voice piped up from behind. Atem shuddered as he turned around. He was almost surprised to see Delitia gliding toward him in her tent of a dress.

"How did **you** get in here?" he asked coldly.

"I was very impressed with how you handled that man, sire," she said, tactfully avoiding the question. "My Anum isn't much like that. He's usually not the temperamental sort, but when he gets riled, woo boy!"

Atem gave a long, exasperated sigh at Delitia's eloquent choice of 'woo boy' as an exclamation. "I'm flattered that you enjoyed that performance, but I am very tired, and I would like to go to bed," he explained slowly. "Now, how did you get all the way up here?"

"I snuck in!" she said proudly, puffing her overstuffed chest out.

"It's 'sneaked, not 'snuck,' you know," Atem said, turning away from Delitia and stomping off in the direction of his room. "Now sneak back out!"


	3. A Second Attack

**Author's Notes:** Well, I seem to be on a roll. This could be a good thing, or a very bad thing, depending on your opinion of my writing. Unfortunately, most of this chapter is time-killing and character exploration. I think I'm getting a good feel for the world I'm portraying, so I can focus more on the characters and the plot instead of giving info dumps about the world. Doesn't that just make you squeal in terror/glee? Another note about my mad, mad spellchecker. If you find numerous instances in which Seth becomes Set, that's my spellchecker not remembering that I added his name to the dictionary.

**Chapter 3: A Second Attack**

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The dining hall was relatively empty the next morning, with only Atem and his Knights eating breakfast at the long table. The meal passed mostly in silence, all parties still subdued by the previous night's events. There was no lively conversation or discussion of recent events as their normally was, just scraping of spoons and knives on plates punctuated by the occasional calling for the pitcher of water.

"Miss Delitia was asking after you last night, sire," Mahaado finally said.

Atem twitched visably and set his spoon down. He wished he had been holding his knife, so that he could pointedly drive it partly into the table. "She found me," he said. "She accosted me after my bath, actually. I'm thankful for the lock on my bathroom. Without it, she may have accosted me **in** the bath."

"Perhaps she has a crush on you, cousin," Seth offered with a grin. Atem's cousin, and the youngest of his Knights, was far from skilled at making jokes, and looked more deranged than lecherous.

Seth's father, seated to his right, elbowed him in the side. "Do not say such things!" he chastised. Seth only rolled his eyes and took a sip of his water. "Miss Delitia is a married woman."

"There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Kalim asked. "We are all adults here, after all. Saying such things, I mean. Not becoming involved with married women. "

Atem slapped a hand against the table and assumed the most commanding stature he could manage while remaining seated. "Married or not, I want nothing to do with that woman!" he snapped. He took a long swig of his water and settled back. "She is a greedy, crude woman with little more than a few confused moths in her head."

The room exploded in laughter, and Atem allowed himself to smile. It was funny, the image of moths flitting in and out of Delitia's painted head. He turned to Mahaado after the laughter had died down.

"Was any trace of the intruder from last night found?" he asked. "Did he remain in the palace for any length of time?"

Mahaado shook his head. "No, sire."

"Excellent. Have more guards posted at every entrance, and start a search for him. I want him found."

The Knights nodded in unison. Satisfied, Atem finished his breakfast and stood, eager to put the events at the party behind him. "Mahaado, do I have any lessons with you today?"

"Yes!" Mahaado exclaimed as if he had totally forgotten. He had apparently picked up on Atem's haste to leave. "We'd better hurry before Headmaster Anum comes storming in, asking what you and his wife were doing in the bath last night." The mage winked cheekily as a final insult, and Atem slumped. There were certain setbacks to having known the man since childhood.

* * *

Atem examined the work table in Mahaado's study as the mage prattled on about whatever spell they were supposed to be practicing that day. Even though he had become king, he still required at least some lessons to better him for the job. He picked up a small stone, turning it over in his hands, thankful that he was taking lessons with Mahaado instead of diplomacy and history with his uncle. At least Mahaado had interesting items that Atem could distract himself with. Mahaado had been forgiving of his distracted fidgetting so far, concentrating on Mana, his eager apprentice. She took twice the lessons Atem did, and had three times his enthusiasm and four times his promise in the art of magic. Mahaado had said several times that Atem was a sort of untapped well. He had the potential, but lacked the will and the skill to use it.

Mana, however, was quite the tapped well. Her potential was obvious, even if she did have serious problems controlling it. This was easily proven by the path of destruction she usually left in her wake after learning a new spell. Atem jumped to the side as a mug beside him became the latest victim of Mana's mis-fired magical abilities.

"Yeek!" she yelped as Mahaado slapped a palm against his face. "I'm sorry, Atem! I didn't think it would... explode. I only wanted to pick it up." She looked up at Mahaado with eager eyes. "Shall I try again, master?"

Mahaado sighed and mussed his apprentice's hair. "Yes, try it again, then let the king have a turn. But... don't try it on anything as liable to explode in sharp pieces."

"And nothing remotely near to me!" Atem interjected loudly. Mana winced and nodded.

Mahaado seated himself daintily on an uncluttered spot on the table while Mana focused her attention on her spell.

"You seem far away today, sire," he said. "Is something the matter?"

"Drop the 'sire', Mahaado. We're not exactly in a formal setting," Atem mumbled. He slumped backward in his seat and frowned.

"Don't evade the question, Atem," the mage said, giving him a light nudge. "What is wrong with you today? Are you still shaken by what happened at the party?"

Atem only shrugged and feigned interest in some of the papers Mahaado had set in front of him earlier. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to tell the Knight everything, but this was a game that they had played ever since they were young. He had always made Mahaado coerce him into giving any personal information. It was an old ritual, a remnant of their younger years, when the most pressing things Mahaado had to convince Atem to tell him involved either girls or things the younger boy had overheard while snooping around the palace. One heard amusing things hiding in urns, and how could a boy resist that?

"We can talk about it in private, later, if it's something embarassing," the mage offered.

The king shrugged again, averting his eyes. He blinked in mild confusion as a glove floated past him as if caught up in a powerful but very controlled updraft. Mahaado blinked as well, and followed the wafting item with his eyes.

"I told you that I could do it, master!" Mana chirped proudly. She gave her wrist a flick, and the glove hovered higher. "Now you do it!" she said, gesturing to Atem.

The glove soared swiftly into Atem's face, slapping him lightly before falling into his lap. He smirked and picked the offending object up. "You did that on purpose," he accused, his smirk broadening into a smile.

"I did not!" Mana said, giggling. "I gestured with my controlling hand without thinking!"

Mahaado hopped off the table and mussed Mana's hair again. "Of course you did, Mana. We all know you have problems with that." Mana screwed her face up in indignation, but did not defend herself. "Atem, are you ready to try?"

"Better now than never, I suppose," Atem said after some hesitation. He had never liked these sorts of spells. Mahaado usually found himself short of cups (and other breakable items) when they practiced spells that involved moving things.

The lesson went on for over an hour longer, most of Atem's attempts ending in Mahaado reminding him to 'mind the cat' and that he was 'running out of cups'.

Hours after the lesson had ended, Atem and Mahaado had stepped out into the garden to kill time before supper. They wandered the small path between the fruit-bearing trees and well-groomed topiaries of the garden a while before settling on a stone bench beside the tiny fish pond, still slightly warm from the sinking sun. They sat there, silent. Atem had heard, once, that true friends didn't need to say anything to enjoy their time together. He only understood this saying in rare moments of clarity, and this was not one of them.

"You're sort of... 'fond' of Mana, aren't you?" he asked spontaneously.

His favorite Knight laughed with an awkward smile and fidgetted. Another reminder that they hadn't quite moved on from being childhood friends, Atem figured. "Well, yes. Yes, I do."

Atem gaped, a bit stunned by Mahaado's honest answer. He knew that he and Mana were close, but he hadn't even been asking seriously! His slackjawed gape quickly transformed into a sly grin. "You don't have plans to run off and get married leaving me to search for a new Knight to replace you, do you?" he asked, nudging his friend.

"Of course not!" Mahaado sputtered indignantly. Atem smiled, marvelling at how quickly his friend's decorum and composure could dissolve and reform. "I have other things to worry about besides that. And Mana is barely old enough to be married as it is. You know that."

"She is not any younger than I, you know," Atem countered. "You and Seth have been after me about getting married for months, now."

"I... that is an entirely different matter! We joke when we say those things," Mahaado said hastily. "You are still too young to be married. I sometimes think I am too young."

"But you have thought about it," Atem observed with a smug chuckle.

"Thinking about it is unavoidable," Mahaado said matter of factly. "I would not be surprised if you had thought about it."

"Not about marrying Mana," Atem said. "Or anyone else, for that matter," he added as an afterthought.

"Then you do not think about it?" Mahaado asked. "Or do you think about marrying yourself? Even you could not be that self-centered."

Atem scowled at those words, suddenly reminded of the intruder's accusations. A sheltered, spoilt child. Was the really all he was? Even Mahaado was saying that he was self-centered. He cleared his throat. "Mahaado?"

"What is it?"

"You don't really think that I'm self-centered, do you?" he asked softly.

A strong hand patted him stiffly on the back, and the Knight shook his head with a knowing smile. "I had a feeling that that was what was troubling you," he said. "Those words made a great impression on you, I see."

Atem nodded, his expression remaing grim. "I had never thought about it that way before. If Anum is crooked, then why not me? What if power just gets inside of you and perverts you until you can't tell what's right or wrong beyond your own desires?"

"All right," Mahaado said. "You have asked me a question, and I choose to be difficult and ask a question in return. When was the last time you put your own desires before the needs of your people?"

The king paused before finally smiling as he realized what Mahaado had meant. "Never," he finally answered. "At least not knowingly."

"Exactly," Mahaado said, standing and walking off. "Now stop this foolishness, and we can join everyone for supper."

"Right," Atem said, nearly tripping on his own cape as he scrambled out of his seat to follow Mahaado.

Supper was a livelier meal than breakfast had been, with more people and more light conversation. Atem only wished that his corronation party had held this sort of light and friendly atmosphere. The whole affair had been stiflingly formal. He much preferred the informal setting he had worked to instill in the meals he shared with his Knights and family. His childhood memories were full of long, complicated, silent meals with the guests either spread out sparcely at the long table, or crammed so close that there were often arguments over whose plate belonged to whom. His uncle and cousin had been the slowest the adjust to the change, but they did not voice any displeasure they may have had.

"Mahaado tells me that you are making progress in your studies," Akunadin said with a thin smile. "I only wish that you would pay enough attention to improve when I teach you."

Atem thought bitterly, for a moment, that he would need a far better teacher to learn all the things his uncle pushed on him. He didn't say anything, of course. "I'm sure he's just bragging on me, uncle," he said humbly. "Mana's the one who managed to slap me from halfway across the room."

The old Knight stared cluelessly. It seemed that Mahaado had failed to tell him about that. A pity. It was quite a funny story, in hindsight. "How did she slap you from across the room?" he asked, puzzled.

"With a glove," Atem said, intentionally being vague. Mana giggled and nibbled a biscuit, aptly watching the entertaining scene.

"That does not clarify anything," Akunadin said flatly. "If anything, it only raises more questions."

Atem told the story in his own words, not mentioning that Mana had probably done it purposely. His uncle was prone to long rants about taking his studies seriously, and implying any intent behind the action might trigger one.

"You should take your studies more seriously, Atem," he said, casting a cold glance at Mana, who only giggled and grinned. Atem sighed. He had not avoided the rant after all.

"Oh!" Mana interjected. Atem silently thanked her for delaying the impending lecture. For a moment, at least. "Is it true that Headmaster Anum's wife followed Atem into the bath last night?"

"No!" Atem snapped. He could feel his eye twitching involuntrarily. How had that fact gotten skewed in less than a day? "That is far from the truth! I saw her in the hallway after I left the bath."

"Mahaado said she accosted you," Mana said. Akunadin was shaking his head woefully at the perverted turn the conversation had taken.

Atem turned to Mahaado with a cool glare. "You told?"

"She asked why you seemed so upset," the mage explained nervously. "I thought, at that time, that that might have been the problem."

Everyone but Akunadin and the parties involved were snickering at this point. For all his Knights' dedication, Atem was still amazed at their willingness to have a laugh at his expense. IT was downright unprofessional.

"Did you **have **to tell her that she followed me into the bath?"

"I did not tell her that!" Mahaado defended. "She must have heard that from someone else!"

"But I only told... Oh, never mind" Atem said with a defeated sigh. "I'm going to bed, unless we have any business to finish."

The knights shook their heads. Mahaado and Shaada looked slightly guilty, Mahaado for letting the odd story leak to Mana, and Shaada for laughing at Atem's expense. Atem flashed them a smile before walking off to his room. He still didn't feel like going through the formalities of conducting official business after supper when it could wait for morning.

He made his way up the winding stair well to the palace's third and highest floor. The chill of early spring was just now making itself known, seeping into the stone walls around him and sapping the heat from his body. He was suddenly very, very eager to reach his chambers and settled down into his warm bed.

The door to his chambers was open, which was far from unusual these days. The palace's most experienced housekeeper had finally gotten married, and to a wealthy man. She had resigned, forcing Atem to hire some younger, less experienced maids to pick up the slack. None of the new girls had gotten the hang of closign doors in their wake after cleaning a room.

Atem stepped inside, grateful that the addleminded woman had at least left a lantern burning on his bedside table so that he could find his way around the room without shattering his toe on a stray ottoman. He began seraching through his dresser, seeing as she had also neglected to lay sleeping clothes out for him. How could she remember something trivial like the lamp, and then totally forget something she had been trained to do? He changed quickly into a nightshirt and scrambled into bed, glad to leave the chilly floor behind in favor of soft blankets and pillows. With a soft puff, the lantern was out agan. He could not stand to sleep with a light so close to his head. It also posed a bit of a hazard, since he had a habit of striking out in his sleep when his dreams were unpleasant. If he struck the lit lantern, well, that would be far from good. The king sighed a curled up on his side, pulling the blankets close around him.

He soon regretted not leaving the lamp lit. He was dozing between sleep and wakefulness when there was a soft click in the room. It sounded very much like a door being opened. Stupid, scatterbrained... he hadn't locked it!

"Who's there?" he asked, unmoving. No answer. No sound. He grew tense and considered crying out.

There was movement behind him, or so he thought he heard. A strong hand clamped over his mouth and nose, and a cloyingly sweet, slightly acrid scent overwhelmed his senses, making his nose sting and his eyes water. He stiffened, thrashed, and grew still as he felt strength leaving him. His eyes shut slowly.


	4. Capture and Escape

**Author's Notes:** What's this? A review! Well, that's glorious! I had started to wonder if this story was a total flop and nobody could bring themselves to tell me so.

I'm very pleased with this chapter, both because I wrote it all in one night, and because I got to write some of my favorite sorts of scenes. Thank you (all?) for readign and enjoying my story thusfar.

**Chapter 4: Capture and Escape**

**

* * *

**

He awoke in daze several hours later. For a moment, he could hardly believe that he was alive at all. However, his head was throbbing, and he considered pain to be a very clear sign that he was still in the living world. On the other hand, he was most assuredly not in his bed. The world bounced and jostled all around him. It was cold, and shadows danced on the walls of the dimly lit place. The setting was vaguely familiar. He had been taken to a wagon or carriage after he had been attacked, and only the gods knew where it was headed. Atem took a deep breath, determined to remain calm. This proved very difficult when he tried to stand and found his arms and legs bound tight. Another breath, deeper this time, but shakier. With no arms and no legs, he used the only effective part of his body that had not been bound.

"Someone get in here, **now!" **he bellowed hoarsely. His throat and mouth were almost painfully dry.

There was hushed mumbling outside the carriage; probably the driver and some guards. He rolled to one side just in time to watch a man stumble into the carriage from up front. He wasn't a tall man, but he was solid and built enough to make up for it. He stomped over to Atem, causing the small carriage to shake and rattle even more.

"Well, lookit who's up!" he said, crouching before Atem. He had an unusually high-pitched voice for such a large man. "You must be one tough little bastard to come out of that so early."

Atem glared and writhed against his bonds. "Who are you? What am I doing here?" he snapped.

The man only smirked and gave Atem a shove, rolling him over onto his back. "I'm Jered, an' you're going on a trip. Now shaddup."

"I gathered that we are going somewhere, you dimwit! Where? What do you plan to gain?"

"I said shaddup!" Jered barked, getting to his feet.

Atem tried and failed to stop himself from crying out in pain as his captor delivered a harsh kick to his side. The pain faded quickly, leaving behind a dull ache in his ribs. He scowled up at the man as his breathing returned to normal.

"You will not get way with this," he said.

Jered smirked and produced a large silver locket from within his baggy jerkin and opened it. "We already have," he said, taking a rag out of his pocket and rubbing the locket down with it. "Now sit still. You talk too much."

Jered kneeled before him again, using one calloused hand to hold the writhing boy in place and holding the rag over his face with the other. He struggled and trtied to bite down on Jered's hand, but the same sickly smell from earlier was quickly clouding his senses and sapping his strength. His struggling slowed, and eventually stopped.

* * *

Atem slept soundly, but not without dreams. Mostly unpleasant ones that he would have caused him to bolt upright in bed; dreams that involved Jered and his cohorts torturing and killing him. There was one comforting dream in which the entire kidnapping had been a dream, and Mana woke him up by bouncing up onto his bed and shouting for him to wake up, but it was brief and hazy...

"Wake up, sire," a soft, feminine voice called from beyond the fog of his drug-induced sleep. Had it not been a dream after all?

His eyes opened narrowly and he squinted against the intense light. The pain in his head grew more intense than before. There was a shrill ringing in his ears, as well as the faint sound of his own slow heartbeat. He attempted to sit up, but soon realized that he was already sitting up. He was also still immobilized, tied to a chair. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He forced his eyes to open fully, cringing at the light. A vaguely familiar sight greeted him. A thin, pale woman with blonde hair and oversized blue eyes. He snapped into wakefulness as the realization hit him. The woman before him was undeniably Delitia. Her wavy blonde hair was tied up on top of her head, but the waves had apparently fallen out. She wore clothes very different from the tent-like dress he had last seen her in, a corset and a long, lace-up skirt. But is was still obvious who she was. 'I snuck in,' he heard a sweet, saucy voice proudly say in the back of his mind. Damn.

"You trecherous harlot," he managed to sneer. His mind was still foggy, and his mouth was as dry as ever.

Delitia grinned in an almost unhinged manner and brought her hand back. "Quiet!" she shrieked, bringing her hand back down to slap Atem across the face. "I've had just about enough of this 'harlot and 'strumpet' talk! First that blathering heretic, and now you! I won't have it!"

More shaken by the sudden upburst than by the slap, Atem raised an eyebrow at the ranting woman. She was... different, now. Her eyes gleamed with a sort of animal cunning instead of the glazed distraction that had seemed to eminate from her before. Had everything been a ploy? Was she, in fact, a cold and calculating criminal? Did Anum know about this? So many questions flooded his mind, but which one would he ask? The most obvious one, of course.

"Why?"

The woman giggled and tossed a stray lock of hair back. "Why not?" she countered. "What have I got to lose?"

Atem examined her again, now that his eyes had adjusted to the light. The pain in his head remained, but he could concentrate now. Her boots were heavy, worn over thick wool stockings. They seemed out of place with her outfit. She had a shortsword fastened to her thin belt, an obviously expensive one with a jewelled hilt and pommel. Probably a heavy bearing sword, meant more for style than for functionality. Atem smiled inwardly. It was an intimidation tactic. She had no idea how to use it, or even that is was not the best weapon she could have chosen for the coin it must have been worth. His confidence was returning, slowly but strongly.

"I think the question is 'what do you have to gain?', actually," he corrected smugly. Delitia twitched. "What could all this be worth, when you are most likely moments from being caught?"

"Really?" Delitia said with an unsettlingly delighted giggle. "Sweet little boy, I don't think you know where you're at."

Atem scowled. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Where are we?"

"You've been sleeping for almost two days," she said, stepping around the chair to stand behind him. "We're on the tippity top of a great, big mountain in Luropa. Your Knights probably think you're dead by now."

Atem's heart sank. The boots made sense, now. She didn't need them in the warmth of the room they were in, but she would have definitely needed them outside in the snowy mountains of Luropa. If what she had told him was true, he had to get out of there, and fast. He wriggled his fingers against the knots in the rope that bound him to the chair. The knots were tight, but far from complex. Perhaps he could distract her, get her talking again long enough to free himself and get that sword away from her. Yes, that could work. That had to work. His foggy mind began clearing faster, the prospect of escape spurring him on.

"I'll ask you again," he said. "What do you have to gain? Are you planning to hold me for ransom?"

"Of **course **not!" Delitia said as if the answer was terribly obvious. She lightly cupped Atem's chin and walked back around to his front. He immediately seized his chance and began working away at the knots. He reflected that, being as simple as they were, Delitia had probably secured him herself. "Holding you for ransom would jeopardize our position. We're going to kill you. Or rather, I'm going to kill you."

Atem was not intimidated, or even impressed, for that matter. She had proven herself to be a less than adequate assassin up to this point, and he didn't imagine she truly had it within herself to kill him in cold blood. But if she did, he would have to put his plan into action quickly. Just at that moment, that knot in the rope came loose. He held the slack rope in place to prevent it from dropping to the floor and giving him away.

"Why kill me?" he asked simply. "How do you gain more with a dead body than a living hostage?"

The woman giggled again and leaned in close, her nose almost touching Atem's. His entire body tensed, and he prepared to release the rope. He would wait for her to distract herself with the sound of her own voice before making his move.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked sweetly. Her eyes glittered with unbridled avarice as she spoke. "An age of revolution is at hand, boy. And the next king of Terranera has promised me a seat beside him in the throne room." Atem allowed the rope to fall slowly, easing it to the floor, inch by inch. He allowed the shock and revoltion at her plan to show in his expression, more for the benefit of his plan than out of inability to control his emotions. Delitia continued her monologue. "I wasn't bought by Anum, boy, I was a gift. Once Anum is out of the picture, I can take my place as queen. Do you understa-"

Atem's hand darted out, taking hold of the sword's pommel and pulling it free of its sheath. He had been worried, for a moment, that it may have been strapped in for travel. How foolish of him to expect that level of preparedness from a greedy harlot turned assassin. Delitia gave an inhuman snarl and grabbed for the sword. A mere second too slow, she gripped the blade instead of the hilt. She recoiled, howling out in pain as blood ran from her palm. Her prim face contorted in a twisted mask of savage rage.

"Jered! Bartz!" she cried. "He's loose!"

Atem quickly took a proper grip on the sword, falling back on the hours of drills he had endured with Kalim, and shoved Delitia to the side. He had no intention of killing her. However, she had no intention of letting him escape. She grabbed him by the arm as he passed, her well-groomed nails digging in deep. He turned on his heel, bringing his sword to the first vital area he could reach. Her neck. Delitia's hand released him and flew to her sliced throat, grasping at the deep slash. She fell to the floor, gasping desperately for breath that would never come. Atem had no time for honorable silence for the life he had had no choice but to end. More of the assasssins were on the way, and he had eliminate them first. He took a breath to steady himself. It wouldn't be easy fighting off two grown men with just an overweight sword and his nightgown. He stepped to the side of the door and waited, hoping to rely on the element of surprise.

Within moments, the door burst open. Atem sprung back into action, jabbing the man in the stomach. He toppled over, and his associate, in all his chivalry, shoved him aside and rushed in. Atem gave a hoarse shriek as Jered's sword slashed him across the chest. He swung his own sword out of reflex and was lucky enough to strike the man in his arm. Jered's sword clattered to the ground, and Atem delivered the final blow, a single angled stab to the chest, just below the ribcage. Jered fell backward with Atem's sword still protruding from his chest, and Atem fled the room.

He slammed the door behind him and pushed the deadbolt into place. He had to wait, now. He had formulated his plan past this point, but it involved waiting. He needed warmer clothes to survive in the cold mountain snow, but there was only one way for him to get any, now. And the blows he had dealt to Delitia and her comrades had not been the kind that cause instantaneous death. They would suffocate or bleed out, perhaps living for as long as a quarter of an hour. He brought a trembling hand up to his own wound, dreading what sort of damage might have been dealt to him. He looked down. His nightgown was sliced open, the wound exposed. It was painful, yes, but it wasn't deep, and it was far from lethal. He would have to make some attempt at dressing it before leaving.

The rush of battle was leaving Atem. The cold knowledge of what had happened was all that it left in its wake. He was alone on a desolate mountain. He was wounded. He had just fatally wounded three people and locked them in a room to slowly die. And he might yet die in the attempt to escape. He did the only thing a young boy could in such a situation. He sunk down against the door, pulled his knees as close to his chest as he could bear, and softly wept.

It was nearly an hour later that Atem decided to open the door. His eyes were red and puffy from weeping, but the pain in his chest had lessened. He slid the deadbolt out and swung the door open. There was no stench of death that he had heard so much about in stories, but the smell of blood was almost overpowering. It was all over the floor, and even on the walls. Atem was very lucky that only a minute amount of it was his.

The best way to choose which items to take, he figured, was to assess which ones were the least bloodsoaked. The disgust factor aside, wet clothes were terrible in a cold climate. His first choice was the pair of boots he had seen Delitia wearing when he first woke up. They slipped off easily enough, sparing him prolonged physical contact with that particular corpse. Bartz's coat was totally drenched, so he relieved the corpse of its breeches instead. Jered's were in similarly pristine condition, and layers never hurt in the snow. He dressed in his morbid spoils and took Jered's sword as an afterthought. It was a light combat model, far better for defending oneself than the gawdy ornament he had somehow slain them all with.

He left the bodies behind, shuddering as he locked the door. He didn't quite know why he locked the door, just that he felt the need to do so. Jered had not been wearing a coat, so it was obviously somewhere. He had been taken to what appeared to be a small wooden cabin, so he didn't have many rooms to search. He found it rather quickly, draped over a chair in the kitchen. He and Bartz had apparently been playing dice and enjoying a meal of cheese and salted meat when Delitia summoned them. Atem rifled through the cupboards in search of some napkins. He found a thick stack of them, large ones even, and went to work washing his wound in the water left in the basin. Unfortunately, he lacked the supplies to dress the wound, but he would settle for it being dry and clean. He wrapped the remnants of his captors' meal in the remaining napkins and stashed them in his newly acquired coat. There was little other dry and light food worth taking. He was as read as he would ever be.

As Atem stood before the front door of the cabin, it occured to him that, perhaps, he could wait for someone to rescue him. If he ate sparingly, he could remain there for days, maybe a week. But it would be days spent with rotting corpses and no way to let anyone know where he was.

Atem pulled the thick coat close aroudn him, opened the door, and stepped out into the snow.


	5. The Mountain

**Author's notes:** Another chapter, this one a bit shorter than the rest. This chapter is basically me flexing my 'creepy' muscle. As usual, thank you for your reviews and whatnot.

**Chapter 5: The Mountain**

Night had fallen while Atem slept off whatever drug or poison had been used on him. Luckily, the moon was quite bright, and it wasn't as terribly cold as he had expected it to be. His resolve was strengthened by these facts. He could see well. It wasn't that cold. He was not going to die. He stood there for several minutes, saying this to himself, silently, his shaky breath issuing from his mouth in lush white puffs.

He finally looked about him, taking in his surroundings. Nothing but snow, and small patches of exposed ground as far as he could see. No sign of a town or even another little cabin in sight. But that only made sense, didn't it? If you planned to hack someone to pieces with a sword as a form of assassination, would it not be best to do it somewhere secluded so as not to keep it a secret? He shuddered at the thought. No, he thought. They had to buy food somewhere; none had been in the wagon with him. There was a village or hold **somewhere **nearby. There had to be! So, logically, there had to be a road to and from the place. He had to find the road, but the snow coverage made that difficult to do, at least with his eyes. He walked to the side of the house, where they had left the wagon and began kicking the snow aside. Within moments, he found packed earth instead of damp and dead grass. He kicked more aside, searching out the path's direction. Thoughts were coming clearer, now. His confidence was returning. He would make it. He was going to live through this. He unsheathed his sword and began flicking the snow before him away in an effort to keep his feet dry. He had heard terrible stories of people's feet freezing solid, and wanted no part of that.

It was easy travelling. He walked for over an hour, never leaving the road for fear of becoming lost. The snow was not terribly thick or wet, and the road predictably followed the smoothest and least steep paths. But the mountain itself was a terrifying place, however easy his journey. It was cold, empty, and unnaturally silent. Or at least, it was unnatural to Atem. Having grown up in a bustling palace in the middle of a great city, he had become accustomed to hearing something, **anything **besides the sound of his own footsteps. But this place was different. He was alone, without even the sounds of the natural world to keep him company. Perhaps that was for the best. He could concentrate on flickign the snow away and trudging home without the distraction. Even if the silence was unnerving.

If sounds did not distract him, his own thoughts made every effort. How had he allowed this to happen? What was going to happen, now that he had escaped? What was going on back in Terranera? He could only hope that the Knights knew better than to give up the search for him after only two days. He shuddered from more than the cold at the thought of the mess he may come back to if he was assumed dead. The court had been in turmoil for weeks after his father had died. How would they handle the kidnapping and murder of the new king, only a year after his reign had begun? But even if he did have a mess to come home to, he would also have his friends and family to return to. He felt vaguely cheated that Delitia had been killed and would not be brought to justice properly for her crimes. However, she had spoken of a revolution, so that rather obviously connected her to the white-haired man with the cloak and the serpentine Spirit Beast. He'd simply bring the leader to justice in place of his follower. He shivered and flexed his hands, trying to work the numb out of them. If only he had found some damned gloves.

A sudden sound shook him from his thoughts; a harsh, warbling shriek. He gasped sharply and whipped his head about, scanning the small clearing he had wandered into. With nothing around him but snow and a few skeletal trees, what could have made that awful sound? His hand clenched around the grip of his sword, his breath puffing out in gasps as he calmed, still scanning the clearing. The sound came again, followed by other similar sounds. Atem's heart pounded as he turned toward the sound. The sight that greeted him was both astounding and greatly unnerving. A great, gnarled, leafless tree. Several large ravens roosting in its aged branches, and a few fluttered off to other trees when discovered. Atem took a cautious step back, his composure threatening to leave him again. He knew that the ravens were harmless, but some deeply ingrained terror in his heart asked if he was so certain. It also told him that he should move along, ignore the ravens, and never think about them again. He nodded as if in agreement with the notion and turned away from the tree. The ravens shouted their goodbyes at his back as he walked off, sweeping his sword from side to side to clear his path.

* * *

Atem shivered violently against the howling wind that had picked up, cursing himself for bloodying two good shirts he could certainly use. The snow around him was building up at an alarming rate. A freak storm had blown in, bringing wind and snow the likes of which he had never experienced in his relatively warm homeland. His sword had become useless against the snow, as the flakes piled up faster than he could move them out of his path. The road was lost to him, now. He plodded along, trying his best to travel through areas that anyone in a wagon or carriage might find least difficult. He stumbled part way down a small hill, thankful that he had sheathed his sword and avoided skewering himself. So far, he was not having the best of luck finding smooth paths. He shuddered again and got to his feet. His feet were becoming numb, and he had not felt his hands in quite some time. To make matters worse, the storm had blotted out the moon's light considerably. He was navigating nearly blind.

He didn't know how far he had climbed down the mountain before he had lost the road, but he had to have come a long way. The land had seemed level for some time, with only a few scant hills to trip him up. He had to be near the foot of the mountain, and the thought renewed his spirits somewhat. He practically ran down the hill, nearly toppling over again several times.

The vague outline of a forest loomed in the distance, a darker, jagged line in the horizon of his sight. A forest with trees to break the wind, and perhaps a sheltered place to rest. The promise of shelter and a safe place to rest was too tempting, and even though a road was unlikely to pass through the forest, he rushed toward it with a light heart.

It wasn't nearly as windy, or even as cold, in the forest. The tall trees and their foliage broke and slowed the wind, and most of the falling snow was caught by the trees. The blanket of snow over the ground was relatively thin, compared to the dense mounds of it outside the forest. His body still trembled at the cold, but not so much as before. He glanced around the forest floor, searching for a strong, straight branch to use as a walking stick to ease the dull ache in his half numbed feet. A promising specimen caught his eye after some hard searching in the dark forest, and he knocked the clinging snow and a few remaining twigs off of it. His new walking stick in hand, he began his search for shelter. It would do him good to get completely out of the wind and get some rest.

Even though the forest was still technically on the mountain, it was as if Atem had stepped into a completely different place. The presence of sound made it especially different. Birds twittered and squawked every now and again in the trees, and there was the occasional tiny rustling of animal life. It may have been the dead of winter on the mountain, but the forest was alive nonetheless. The familiar sights and sounds were welcome indeed after the cold, silent part of the mountain. He had visited similar forests many times, and had even gone on the odd hunting expedition with his father, when he was alive.

The wind had died down to a light breeze, now, and even the flakes that managed to find their way to the forest floor were becoming fewer and fewer. The storm had lightened up, and the clouds were moving out, allowing light from the moon to illuminate the forest once more. Atem smiled to himself. His smile faded quickly when he realized that the forest had gone quiet. The birds had stopped calling, and there was no sound of motion. Something was not right. His hand moved slowly to his sword, his eyes darting about. Had someone followed him? A branch snapped loudly to his right, and he turned.

A huge, dark form crouched in the brush less than twenty feet from him. It most certainly was not human. The same sort of terror he had felt looking at the tree full of ravens returned tenfold. Its huge tongue lolled out of its gaping, toothy mouth as it watched him, hot breath flowing out in white vapor. He took a step back, and it planted one huge paw foward. In a split second, it lunged at him fron its stone still position, and the chase was on. It never occured to Atem to draw his sword.

Atem abandoned his walking stick and took off as quickly as his legs would carry him, grateful, for once, for his light and quick frame. He scurried wildly over rocks and fallen tree trunks in an attempt to trip his pursuer up, but the creature seemed too focused on its prey to be slowed. It leapt over any obstacle, landing with a loud thud each time. Atem looked about frantically as he ran, searching out high ground or a place to hide. It was difficult with branches slapping his face constantly. He caught sight of a narrow burrow, certainly large enough for him to duck into, but far too small for the beast to follow. He dove in head first, praying that he had not just sealed his own fate. If that thing got hold of him, he was done for.

The creature stopped cold, sniffing around the tiny burrow's mouth. Then it began to pace about outside. Atem thought, for a moment, that it might just leave. It rushed the burrow suddenly, snarling and snapping its jaws. Atem drew back, finding the burrow to be deeper than he had originally thought. The thing continued to snap and growl, it great black head just more than a foot from Atem. He struggled to draw his sword and plunged it forward, skewering the thing through one eye. It let loose an agonized yowl and recoiled, retreating from the burrow. Unfortunately, it took his sword with it. He stared out the mouth of his shelter for a long while, listening for any sign of the monster returning. None ever came.

He settled back against the smooth earth wall and rifled around in his coat for the food he had taken from the cabin. He could rest, now, and some food would help him keep his strength up.


End file.
